


Blood Orange

by AlwaysEroticWrestling, ThisGuyFvcks



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Being the Elite, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chuck curses a lot actually, Gen, Possession, a tale of two himbos, chuck gets to say 'shit' this time, orange cassidy origin story, shit talking bruce springsteen, supernatural shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysEroticWrestling/pseuds/AlwaysEroticWrestling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisGuyFvcks/pseuds/ThisGuyFvcks
Summary: Chuck Taylor regrets his new roommate. The loud music and food stealing was more than enough, but the fact that he's now living in a nightmare horror film makes him feel all the more justified.Trent's just doing his best to help, and by god that's all anyone can really ask for.This is an AU [I mean, probably]. Humor spookies. Possession. Some depictions of body horror. Cheers.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. The Boss

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the stuff we write is done by chance wheel. I got OC and Chuck, so here's a twisted roommates story. 
> 
> Hooray it's done.

“Hey, Trent’s staying over. And he’s bringing takeout.” Chuck poked his head into the living room where Orange Cassidy was sprawled on the sofa. Fully dressed, just as he’d left him the night before.  
There was no response.  
“What do you think about Chinese?” Still nothing.  
“Lo mein. Got it,” Chuck answered, walking past the sofa and into the kitchen.  
Life was good. But when they’d first signed the least three years ago, that wasn’t the case.

It was early January and the weather was shit, even by Philly standards. The new apartment had seemed too good to be true. Until two days ago, when the heater started going out. Maintenance was still off for the holiday but the weather sure as fuck wasn’t.  
Hitting it with a wrench hadn’t really done shit to fix it, either, and that was Chuck’s only real repair plan.  
He sat, wrapped up tight in a maroon snuggie his best friend had unironically gifted him, desperately trying to settle down for the evening.  
The television he was trying to watch flickered and then blinked out.  
Overhead, the muffled sounds of Bruce Springsteen permeated the silence. Chuck frowned from his cheap flannel prison. 

“Hey! Jay!” He banged his hand on the wall. “Can you turn it down some? You’re cutting the power out down here!” Jay, or JC as he was sometimes called, wasn’t the most courteous roommate.  
But there was no way he could’ve afforded this place by himself.  
Which is why when ‘Born to Run’ started playing louder, he just groaned and covered his face with his pillow. 

And then something grabbed his foot.  
Chuck Taylor woke up screaming.  
“Whoa hey. It’s me.”  
He uncovered his head and the broad-shouldered shape of his best friend manifested in the dark. “You weren’t answering the door.”  
Chuck shuffled over enough to give him room to sit.  
“How’d you get in…?” He asked with an air of suspicion.  
“You gave me a key, dumbass.” Trent took up residence in the provided spot. It was well into the small hours of the morning, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for Trent to come by unannounced. “So. Why are you sitting in the cold dark? Is this another phase? Because if you’re going to shave your head again-”  
“It’s not a phase. It’s JC.” Chuck frowned. “He’s a dick. And, he’s getting progressively more dicklike-” his brows furrowed. “Dicky..? Dickish….? The guy sucks, Trent.”  
“So he listens to shit music and really likes denim. Can’t get any worse right?” 

It got worse.

Chuck came down for breakfast one morning to find JC standing with the fridge door wide open. He passed by and gave his roommate some space, but when he came back through minutes later he was still standing there, in all his acid-washed glory.  
“Seriously dude?” A month of tension was rising in Chuck. “Shut the damn door. I’m the one paying the power bill.”  
JC slowly turned to face him, one hand on the fridge door. The other denim-cuffed wrist holding a carton of orange juice to his mouth. Chuck wrinkled his nose in disgust, trying not to think about how long that had been going on, but before he could comment on it, it started spilling out over the corners of JC’s mouth.  
Pulpy and sticky and dripping all over the linoleum floor. His adam’s apple bobbed in an effort to keep up. After a few more audible swallows the carton slipped from his hand.  
The last of its contents gurgled out onto the floor at his feet.  
As their eyes met, Chuck felt a deep cold grip his spine. 

JC’s lips curled in a smile.  
The light behind him in the refrigerator flickered and then fizzled out with a pop. He took one step toward Chuck, wet rubber sneakers squeaking as he did.  
“What was that Chuckie?” Another step and the overhead light popped. Sparks and glass showered over his roommate. He seemed unphased. 

Chuck was finally able to scream. He could see his breath hang in the suddenly frozen air. 

A laugh started to bubble up. It was almost in JCs voice, but it stretched until the entire room was filled with it, and Chuck couldn’t be sure it if it was coming from the other man at all. 

He was slamming the front door behind him and dashing down the stairs before he even realized what was going on.  
“Shit. Shit fuck- What the fuck?” He darted an entire block before he looked over his shoulder to see if JC was following him. Thankfully, the street was still empty.  
Unfortunately, after patting his thighs, Chuck realized that his pockets were as well. 

No phone. No keys.  
Only one place to turn.


	2. Tenant.

“Okay, okay… One more time…” Trent handed a hysterical Chuck a beer, because really, what else was he supposed to do here? 

Chuck put it to his lips and slammed a few chugs. It didn’t really ease his troubles but it did make his throat less scratchy. He’d done a lot of screaming on the way over. He took a breath and thumbed at the beer label until the corners started to peel.  
“He’s a fucking demon. My roommates a - a fucking DEMON. I’m telling you - I saw his eyes and there was this .. these sounds.” He shuddered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was scary. Full on, little black-haired girl eating your insides scary. “ 

Trent looked skeptical at best.  
But he nodded.  
Because he didn’t want Chuck to throw that bottle back at him. 

Chuck, when Trent didn’t offer any sage advice, pointed a finger.  
“You should’ve just moved in. You could be living with me, and there’d be no bullshit Bruce Springsteen demon drinking Orange Juice out the damn carton in my kitchen!” 

Trent sighed.  
Inwardly he knew that he was a carton drinker. Now wasn’t the time to confess that to his best friend.  
“Chuck Taylor. You’re my best friend. And I love you. But sometimes, best friends can’t live together. It’d compromise things. “ Chuck glowered, but eventually relented and went back to looking...haunted, frankly.  
“Well. What do we do….?”  
Chuck slumped deep down into Trent’s couch, taking most of it up for himself as he curled up.  
“I dunno. Google it? I’m not going back alone.”  
They did come up with a lot of information pertaining to demons. And ghosts. A large portion of it was on LiveJournal with the same people who claimed to be vampires. Trent remained skeptical, but he was ever supportive. 

Armed with the knowledge that haunted ‘incidents’ rarely ‘manifested’ constantly, Chuck, Trent, and Trent’s baseball bat drove back over to Chuck’s place.  
By now it was night. The windows were dark as they approached. Chuck looked at Trent expectedly, and Trent stepped up to unlock the door.  
It creaked as he pushed it open, but then it was all quiet. Chuck tucked himself behind Trent as they traversed the house. 

Dim light showed from the kitchen archway. Trent peeked around the corner.  
“Fridge is still open.” His whisper almost echoed in the dead silence. 

Admittedly, as he stared at the flickering refrigerator light and sticky pool of congealed juice on the floor, Trent was unsettled.  
“Trent?” Chuck breathed out, index finger extended to the floor. Splatters, spaced evenly. Some clearly footprints, some smaller. 

“What the shit?” Trent looked from the prints to his friend. He pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on the floor for further examination. 

“That’s. Those are handprints…So that's. Pretty weird,” Trent admitted with a swallow.  
Chuck opened his mouth to respond, then he heard it. 

Three sharp knocks from upstairs. He saw Trent jump, nearly enough to slide in the mess on the floor. 

Three more knocks sounded. Louder, more pointed. The ceiling seemed to tremble faintly with the reverberations.  
Chuck unconsciously held out his hand. Trent was there to grip it tight, similarly unnerved.  
They walked up the stairs like that, Trent’s phone light to guide them. Orange prints vanished half-way up.  
JC’s door was shut. Trent and Chuck looked at one another, and Trent reclaimed his hand to reach for the knob. 

As soon as he touched the metal he recoiled with a hiss. Chuck grabbed his shoulder questioningly.  
“T’s freezing,” Trent explained, before going back again more prepared. This time when he turned the knob, the door easily opened. This time, Trent let Chuck step into the darkness first. 

“JC…?” Chuck inquired to the dark. He was answered by a quiet tearing sound. A thin sheet of paper wafted through the air. The two men followed it to the corner where a figure was hunched on the floor, facing a wall. Another tearing sound, another piece of paper.  
Trent looked down to see the floor littered with them, just in time for a slow laugh to occupy the silence.  
“He tried to get rid of me. Can you fucking believe it?” The figure from the corner posed the question, now frozen still. Trent stuck his shoulder against Chucks and looked around the room. 

Crosses, nailed to the wall haphazardly, casting strange shadows from the dim street light showing through the window.  
“ME.” The voice boomed. Something heavy flew through the air, narrowly missing Chuck’s head as it crashed into the wall. It clattered to the ground and left a dent behind it. As soon as it hit the ground Trent recognized it. A book, half the pages torn out. A bible. 

“We can help, JC,” Chuck said, a solid attempt at being brave now that he had a friend beside him. 

The crouched figure turned it’s head to look at them. His body did not.  
“I don’t think so, Chuck. JC is. Gone.”


	3. Fallen

Chuck felt all the blood rush from his head. Then he felt his knees give. And then, nothing at all.

He was warm, and it was quiet. When his eyes fluttered open a dull ache throbbed in his forehead. He groaned and took a few moments to access his surroundings.   
“Thank fuck you’re back.” Trent’s head swam into view in his field of vision.   
“The hell happened…?” Chuck murmured from his blanket cocoon on Trent’s sofa.   
“You fainted.” Trent, now seeing that Chuck was awake and not dead, snickered. “...Like a bitch, man. I had to carry you out of there before you got murdered. You’re welcome, by the way.”  
“Okay.” Chuck winced. “Why’s my head hurt though? Feels like I got kissed with a brick.”

Trent glanced briefly to the side, recalling the scenario from an hour before. JC had stood, head still turned at a gruesome angle. All he did was hold out his hand, vibrant orange eyes staring right at Chuck Taylor. And Trent watched Chuck’s eyes roll back into his head before he collapsed limply against him. Trent caught him, and the being in the corner took a backwards step their way before turning his body to line up with his head. The sound of the bones cracking back into alignment almost made Trent pass out, too. But he grounded himself and started pulling Chuck back out of the bedroom door.  
“Nonono. Trent- BUD. Leave him with me. I just wanna borrow him. For a second. I just wanna get out of here. He’ll be.. Fine.” The floor under his feet seemed to ripple. Not JC was still collecting himself apparently, and it gave him just enough time to throw Chuck over one shoulder and run like blue hell back down the stairs.  
And yes, maybe he’d knocked Chuck’s forehead against the bannister at the turn. And maybe he was tearing up a little as he ran away, but that was just because the cold air was getting into his eyes. And probably because NotJC was chasing him down the stairs and it was absolutely terrifying. Trent chucked his pal in the backseat of his car and chanced a look over his shoulder toward the door. Just in time to see JC’s body make a run for the open door only to stop dead in his tracks.   
Trent peeled out away from the street, he could see the thing screaming in the rearview mirror after him, orange eyes ablaze. 

Trent looked Chuck dead in the eye as he recounted the story in full, save for one or two amendments.   
“He hit you in the head. But I punched him back and took you out of there.”   
Chuck took this at face value and sat up.  
“You. You’re a life saver. A hero.” He patted his friend's arm.   
“What the hell am I going to do…?”   
Trent smiled.  
“I think… I’ve found something.” He turned his laptop, which had been open on the coffee table to face Chuck.   
“There’s this guy on YouTube. He’s got this whole channel about. Y’know, stuff like this.” Chuck scooted closer to see a scrolling list of thumbnails, all featuring a bald, middle aged man dressed in black and red robes.   
The first video was the longest. “ ‘Identifying Your Entity’ “ Chuck read outloud. “Seems like a decent place to start…”   
Trent hit ‘play’ and sat back next to Chuck as they watched. The videos weren’t exactly high with the production value. It was mostly just the man, CD, sitting in front of a stationary camera next to a lamp speaking through things. But the audio was clear, and it didn’t seem like it was a joke.   
“There are countless entities that traverse worlds to walk in ours. For clarities sake, I’ve broken them into five distinct categories, escalating in order of the threat they pose.”   
“First, there’s the Interactive spirits. These can often be remnants of family or loved ones that we’ve lost that haven’t quite managed to cross over for one reason or another. They are normally benign, and their manifestations are usually simple. Sometimes these are the orbs of light you can see in photographs. They may give you messages through dreams, or you may just sense a presence in your residence. Often times these will clear up when the spirit finds reason for rest and are usually no cause for concern.” 

Chuck looked at Trent.   
“It’s not that one,” he said flatly. 

“The second tier of entity we’ll call ‘The Lost’. These are human spirits that died untimely and usually from violent means. In the afterlife they are ruled by confusion, and this can occasionally lead to unpleasant experiences. They can cause minor psychokinetic phenomena, such as flickering lights or moving objects. Usually, this is the tier that most consider typical hauntings. Generally speaking, a blessing or cleansing ritual is enough to exsize the spirit. ”

The videos host, Daniels, took a moment and proceeded.  
“If what your experiencing is more than that, I would consider consulting a professional. The next tier up, or, down as the case runs in the hierarcy of hell, are the Shadows. These things…. Never were humans. They cannot exist fully on this plane, but they can extend their influence and manfiest in a half form. As the name implies, they take the form of shadowy figures people report seeing out of the corner of their eyes. They’re sometimes connected with sleep paralysis or alien abductions…”   
Chuck scoffed.   
“Bullshit. Aliens are real.” Without looking, Trent held out his fist. Chuck tapped it with his own as they continued watching.   
“They can lurk in your home, anchored to that specific place. They can’t place direct, physical attacks, but their presence has a direct effect on the psyche of those they terrorize. They are the influencers. They can…manipulate emotions. They can cause people to harm one another…Stories like the Amityville house begin with these presences. Fortunately, they are rare.”   
“Did you see anything weird like that?” Trent asked.  
“No. Not a damn thing. You don’t think I’d notice?”  
“I guess we keep going then.” 

Christopher Daniels steepled his fingers in his seat. His face got more solemn and he took another moment.  
“The fourth category of entity are the Possessors. Most of you have probably heard of them in film, but in reality, they are rare. These entities are incredibly powerful. If given the opportunity, they can truly inhabit a human vessel and take control of them bodily. Vulnerable individuals are most prone to attract these entities, but there are other circumstances that may lead to possession as well. These are demons, pure in simple, that dwell in our world not in body but in spirit. They can move freely between planes, but they don’t yet have the power to move with freedom in ours. And that is the one thing they all desire. Full possession is a rare thing. Usually, the host dies before its completed, either from the demon or duress from the exorcism rituals themselves. If…”   
The man paused. Chuck held his breath.  
“If the host is compatible, it is possible that the demon can fully take over. They can then kill the host, and take their body as a vessel to enact their will upon the world. This is the fifth and final category. ‘The Demon’. When this transition from possession is complete, the demon can have exponentially increased power and become almost unstoppable. They can wreak havoc on our plane. They are a force of devastation.” 

Daniels seemed to stare at them directly through the screen for a long moment. Then, he smiled. “So, if you have any further questions, you can contact me, at fallenangel@aol.com . You can also check out the other videos for more specifics on how to get rid of all your pesky possessions.” The video ended on a logo and recommended thumbnails. 

“So……” Chuck started.   
“We’re doing this aren’t we?” Trent asked, resigned.   
“....I think we have to.”  
“We are so, so screwed.”


	4. Occupant

Trent sent out the SOS email to the Fallen Angel with some bullet points on their situation and his phone number. They skimmed his other videos for tips on how they might arm themselves against their orange-eyed invader.   
Chuck rifled through Trent’s storage for supplies while Trent recapped what he was seeing.  
“He has to be stuck inside a body to be here. So we can hit him and stuff, I guess. I don’t… I don’t know if that’ll bother him.”   
“Hold on, what about this?” Chuck pulled a bundle of half-tangled bundle of rope and a roll of duct-tape from the closet.   
“Ooh. Yeah, throw it in the bag,” Trent said with an excited nod.   
The bag had gotten pretty full, and it was starting to look like they’d need to start finding other reasons to delay returning to Chuck’s place.  
“There’s some rituals we can try. Some are in Latin n shit.” Trent paced and scrolled.   
“Should we be doing this? He did say we should probably get an expert, right…?”   
“There’s not exactly a hotline. And this feels like we’re on a pretty tight timetable.”   
It took them almost an hour to settle on a plan of tying the demon up and hoping for the best. Most of it was just spent trying to overcome their understandable trepidation.   
The cure for that wound up being a few sturdy slaps to the chest from one best friend to the other. And the fact that they’d found a couple helmets in Trent’s closet made them feel slightly more confident.

Once again they stood in front of Chuck’s place. The night was black as pitch, but the windows, this time, were all alight.   
Chuck took a deep breath.  
“Let’s fucking do this, man.” Trent gave his hand a squeeze before they shouldered into the door, almost together.   
Chuck immediately let out a shocked scream. JC’s body, splayed at the bottom of the stairs, facing them as they entered the living room. If it hadn’t been for his blank, dead eyes, Chuck would swear he was just awkwardly lounging there.   
Trent covered his mouth in terror.  
The front door slammed behind them. The lock clicked into place on it’s own accord. 

“If I can’t leave. You can’t leave.” The now familiar voice of the entity settled around them. And then the body at the bottom of the stairs surged up. Like it was being pulled by the chest by marionette strings. The tips of his toes dragged the floor as he moved toward them. His head swung forward facing, and those dead eyes came to life with unnatural orange brightness.   
And it seemed to spread. Thick veins under his skin, radiating out from his eyes. Then from his mouth. And up from the collar of his crew neck shirt.  
“What’s with the headgear?” The entity’s borrowed head lolled to the side in a curious tilt.  
An unspoken exchange happened between Chuck and Trent, and with a battle cry they both lunged forward with their heads down. They connected with the Entity, spearing him back and into the steps. The three of them tangled together in a chaotic struggle on the ground.   
The entity was snarling when Trent brought the rope out to loop around him. For the second time that day, Chuck left a him-shaped hole in the drywall. Somewhere in the back of his mind his security deposit was lost forever.   
But they were totally winning this thing. He had his knee jammed in the back of JC, with his arms in hand as Trent started working the ropes. He was letting out ear-ringing shrieks and struggling against Chuck’s hold when another sound joined the cacophony.   
It was a cell phone. Trent’s specifically.   
“Hold on-” Trent held up a finger to Chuck.  
“What? NO . TRENT. HEY!” But he was already answering it with a ‘hello’ that belied their current situation.   
Trent's eyes lit up.  
“It’s him!” He mouthed, as Chuck desperately held onto the bucking demon under him.  
“OH yeah, we’re here right now- Let me put you on speaker.” 

Half a country away, expert exorcist Christopher Daniels had his ear half blown out by an unearthly scream.  
“Holy fuck.” It was worse than he’d thought.   
“Trent- Trent, I need you to put me on a video call, can you do that for me?”  
“Yeah. Yeah hold on-” 

And then in a span of a few seconds, he was treated to a hell of a scene.   
The entity flailed, and Chuck’s luck holding it had run out. He reared up, falling backwards on the stairs with Chuck still clinging to his neck.  
Daniels winced at the sound. 

The helmets had been a very good idea.   
Chuck was still hit hard enough that, for a frozen moment in time, he was knocked back to his youth.   
His first horse ride without a guide. The damn thing rearing and bucking. Chuck just held tighter, legs wrapping around the slim thighs of his roommate and his elbow hooking right against the things neck.  
He’d had about fucking enough.   
Despite what the terrified sobs coming out of his mouth might’ve implied about the situation.  
The entity, despite the chokehold, was livid. Orange eyes were glowing, and Daniels even caught a lens flare from the intensity.   
“COVER HIS EYES- YOU HAVE TO COVER THEM!”   
Trent cursed, then loudly repeated the message to Chuck. And that was pretty much all he was doing besides holding the phone and moving his feet like the floor was hot.   
“Trent CMON!” Chuck adjusted his arm to wrap around JC’s eyes instead, trying to lock it tighter with his other arm.   
“On it I’m on it! “ Trent wasn’t on it. He hunted desperately for Tshirt or dirty towel to use but for the first time ever, Chuck’s house was fucking clean.   
CD was stuck staring at the ceiling, trying to parse out what was happening among the frantic yelling. Some of which he was doing himself.   
Trent, in an act of desperation, was now digging through the kitchen drawers while the demon did a backbend with Chuck curled around him like a feather boa.   
“GOT IT I GOT IT!” Chuck felt hope.   
Trent returned, pair of cheap ostentatious sunglasses held high in the air triumphantly. 

Chuck realized that he was probably going to die here. 

Trent persisted and wrestled the sunglasses onto the entity's face, and that eerie orange glow was blocked out. Now with the two of them back to wrangling him, they were able to tie the ropes haphazardly around his torso in sloppy knots. 

“Guys? Guys are you there?” Daniels called out after a few moments of silence, and then Trent’s face came back into frame.   
“We’re good. We got him,” he panted. He spun the phone back around to show the bound demon, arms pinned to his sides. His sunglasses were secured over his eyes by the same long strip of duct tape that covered his mouth.   
Daniels was impressed.  
“Good job. That won’t hold it forever though. We need to begin the ritual.”   
Chuck, who was collapsed in a heap next to the stairs, gave a weak thumbs up.   
“Boys. Get the candles.”


	5. Wrong

Ten minutes later they had used the entire roll of duct tape to secure him to the chair. Chuck let Trent do that while he lit the tea candles Trent made fun of him for owning in the first place.   
Daniels had dawned his robes and was still watching from his screen, albeit from a more secure perch than Trent’s shaky hands.   
“First, we have to find his name. Only then can we bind it.”   
“His name is JC,” Trent said. Chuck hit him in the arm.  
“The fucking. Demon’s name, dumbass.”   
“Oh. Right.”   
“Shhh. “ Daniels flipped through pages of his book and then started murmuring in Latin. At least, Chuck assumed it was latin. He wasn’t an expert.   
Whatever it was seemed to piss off the demon, because he was now twitching in his confines and growling loudly from his throat.  
Daniels continued to flip through his book.  
“This manifestation. I think I’ve read about it somewhere- A lesser power.”  
Apparently ‘lesser’ was something of a trigger, because Chuck’s only lamp burst into tinkling glass all over the carpet when Daniels said it.   
Chuck clung to Trent’s arm and they braced themselves against a wall.   
“I know you-” Daniels pointed to a passage in his book.  
“You- Entity of sloth. Foul baron of the sixth circle-”   
The chair trembled. The single photograph of some cats Chuck had on wall fell to the floor and shattered.   
Daniels swallowed, but continued.   
“...Overseer of slow ruin-”   
Chuck didn’t know the sound of tape ripping could be so sinister, but it made his heart drop.   
“YOU CAN’T STOP ME. THIS IS MY BODY. HE IS GONE.” Mouth free, the voice was suddenly everywhere.   
Daniels was shook by the words. But he gathered himself and continued.  
“You are Cassidius-”  
“DID YOU HEAR ME? HIS SOUL IS FORFEIT AND HIS BODY IS MINE. Hes dead! The prick’s dead already!”   
“WAIT WAIT WAIT- What the hell? Dead? Like, dead dead?” Daniels didn’t address the entity, but Chuck Taylor certainly did.   
“Don’t talk to it,” Daniels warned between muttering prayers and frantically flipping through his material.  
Chuck looked from the man in the screen to the man he and Trent had tied up and taped to a chair.  
“No, hold on though. Time out,” Chuck held up his hands. “JC… He’s dead.”  
“Chuck, he’s probably lying. That’s kind of there whole thing-”  
“Oh no. He’s super dead. Watch me do this.” Cassidius, as he was so called, snapped his neck backward over the back of the chair. Trent yelped. “He called me up. He let me in. He beefed it, baby. ” He brought his head back up, watching the two men in the kitchen corner through the tinted glasses with a smirk.

Chuck slumped against the counter.  
There was no way he could have a dead roommate. That was like, not having a roommate at all. But worse, because now you had a dead guy and you had to explain that and also pay double rent. He let out a quiet sob.  
“Shit, Chuck, I didn’t know you cared about JC so much,” Trent put an arm around his inconsolable friend.  
“No it’s not that- It’s just- Too much!”   
Cassidius was laughing again, seemingly pleased he caused someone more misery.   
“You can’t get rid of me,” he said, sing-song amidst the cackling laughter.   
Trent went for a kitchen knife. Well. The kitchen knife, as in, the one kitchen knife Chuck Taylor owned.   
“What if I just kill him?”  
“No!” Daniels called out.   
“You can try~ It’s just going to make a mess.”  
Trent considered doing it anyway.   
“He’s truly fully ascended to our plane then.” Daniels didn’t sound confident.   
“Well then what the fuck do we do now?”   
Cassidius was laughing, and it was punctuated by the sound of snapping wood.  
“You can’t do anything! I’m all powerful.”   
“Bullshit!” Chuck pointed an index finger at him. “You can’t even leave the apartment!”   
Cassidius stopped laughing.   
“Fuck you, you little shit- If I wanted, you’d be splattered all over the ceiling like a knock-off Pollack.”  
Trent was about to step in for Chuck’s honor, but the sound of a gong coming from his phone speakers distracted the three of them.   
“Don’t. Talk. To the demon.” Daniels repeated, currently as exasperated as he was terrified, also currently standing in front of a gong that Chuck did want to ask about later.  
“That’s derogatory-” The thing in the chair shot back.  
Daniels continued on bravely.   
“If he is here, in this world… The only thing we can do is bind him here to contain his malevolent harm.”  
Trent blinked.  
“I mean. He’s fuckin’ tied up right? So….. we good?”  
“No, no I mean something different. He can’t leave the apartment you said?”   
“Oh. Yeah, when we left earlier, he hit the open door and it was like- splat!” Trent stuck his hands out in front of him. “Like a bird in a window, y’know.”  
Cassidius was curiously quiet during this chat, but the air had gone cold again. Chuck’s breath lingered in the air.   
“Someone must’ve gotten halfway through the binding ritual…” Daniels mused, seemingly more to himself than anything. “Your roommate. Did he dabble with the darkest arts?”   
Chuck shrugged his shoulders.  
“I mean, he had a bunch of weird candles and spoke in tongues sometimes, but he also like never did the dishes or took the trash out so-”  
“That’s it!” His Eureka moment was punctuated by a large snapping sound. Thankfully it wasn’t bones. Unfortunately it was the chair the demon had been tied to.   
“No time to explain! Just HOLD HIM,” Daniels issued to the command, and Chuck and Trent looked at one another uneasily.   
But then the demon was standing, albeit arms still tied to his sides and the chair back, and they had no choice. With an unspoken nod the two dashed over, flanking Cassidius and pinning his arms to his sides in what resembled a macabre group hug. Chuck held onto Trent, Trent held tight to Chuck. Daniels was saying a bunch of things that neither of them understood but that certainly had their supernatural quarry writhing and fighting against them. Chuck was fairly certain he was crying. Luckily the sound of the kitchen faucet bursting of its own accord would definitely distract from that.   
Trent was actually thankful for the faucet, seeing as how he’d noticed the small fire that’d bloomed on the stove next to it that would likely have killed them all otherwise.   
The phenomena continued for as long as Daniels spoke, which, while it felt like an hour, was in reality about seven minutes. There was so much happening.   
And then, there was nothing at all.  
Silence fell in an instant. The body of JC did, too, hitting the ground with a definitive thud. Chuck and Trent stood, alive, panting, staring at each other. They hugged tight, and Chuck had no intention of letting go until a voice from across the room called out to them.  
“Boys? Boys are you good?” Trent let go and walked over Chuck’s entire set of dishwear- thankfully all plastic, or they’d have a John McClane situation - to get to his phone and their e-exorcist. Chuck followed behind, popping his head to the other side of the screen.  
“So uh. Yeah. What the fuck, right?” Trent asked.  
“I think… I believe we’ve been successful. Your roommate, JC, he must’ve summoned that thing here. It’s no surprise it took him over. Seems like he did get part of the binding ritual done before he was uh-”  
“Made super dead,” Chuck finished, urging Daniels to continue.  
“Right. Well. Either way, what he did was draw that thing fully into our plane. He isn’t just a spirit, he is ...Here. The most I could hope to do without preparation or...Understanding, was to finish the binding ritual. He will now be tied to whatever object it was JC was trying to channel him into in the first place. Like a genie in a lamp. As long as nothing touches the object, he should be absolutely harmless.”   
“...What’s the object?” That seemed like an important detail to Chuck.  
“It could be anything. A book, a talisman of some kind...”   
A soft groan sounded behind them, and Chuck and Trent shared a dread as they turned.  
In one swift, fluid movement, the thing on the floor was on his feet in front of them again, arms still bound to his sides.   
“....Sunglasses,” he grumbled, twisting his arms and finally freeing them from the rope that had loosened during the previous struggle. “I told you, the guy was a prick. Don’t know why you’re so upset about it. He definitely seemed like the type t’... y’know. Bleed you dry in your sleep sacrificing you to . Well. Someone like me.” He stretched, disjointed body parts realigning with loud cracks.   
Trent, about having finally had enough, moved to stand in front of Chuck.  
“Relax.” Cassidius put a hand up, and then stumbled a little. He actually backed away from the pair, until he made contact with the kitchen wall and slid slowly down to the floor. “M’too tired for more bullshit.”  
“Guys, don’t talk to-”   
Trent’s phone cut off and out with the sound of the laziest finger snap.   
“Yeah. I can’t with him right now. Listen. Boys, lets talk. Welcome party? Not the best start…”  
“Yeah, no shit. You want to wreak havoc and bend humanity to your will in a streak of chaos and murder.”  
The demon looked at Chuck from his place on the floor.  
“Well. Yeah. What do -you- do for a day job? Rent here ain’t cheap. I saw the bills...”   
Chuck was tired, too. Tired and feeling more lost than he did in that physics class he’d mistakenly taken instead of physical education.   
“You can’t kill people for money. I mean, you can sometimes but, no one does that. No one actually does that,” Trent continued, muttering something about hitmen and movies and the dark web, until Chuck sent an elbow to his ribs.   
“Oh. Well. Shit.” Cassidius looked genuinely surprised, as much as someone could when their face was half-hidden by sunglasses and duct-tape. “....That’s like. The entry level stuff where I’m from. That’s gonna be my bad, I guess.”   
The faucet weakly burst another spray of water in the shared silence.  
“I think… Maybe this has been a misunderstanding. You’re still gonna need a roommate, right?”   
Chuck, against his better judgement, and frankly even against his worst judgement, nodded vaguely.   
“Okay then. Let’s make a deal.” The demon smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with it this far, I owe you my life.   
I had a vague idea and I got lost in the weeds here, but I still like the concept. You made it. There's going to be a little epilogue to follow but hey. This origin film is complete, and if you don't wanna stay for the post credits teaser I don't blame ya. <3


	6. End.

It took a little time to adjust. The world, while admittedly fucked up, wasn’t exactly the nightmare hellscape Cassidius assumed he’d been summoned to. It was actually, pretty mellow. Which had turned out to be a good thing, because the ritual the Fallen Angel had completed did manage to bind up most of his ability in those sunglasses, and he had to wear the things even to leave the confines of the apartment.   
But they looked cool, and they grew on him.  
His roommate grew on him too. Even if they occasionally clashed on who needed to do what chores, Chuck was pretty easy to get along with. He was almost certain he’d never even needed to eviscerate anyone. And that was a lot of pressure off his psyche.   
Trent essentially lived there, too, though suggesting he just fully move-in was a sort of an unspoken line he wasn’t to cross. It was Trent that gave him his new name. Partially because they didn’t want just anyone exerting control over him, partially because ‘Cassidius sounded like a boot-leg Vikings character’, and ‘having one name only worked for Cher and Prince’.   
He didn’t mind Cassidy.   
Honestly, he didn’t mind much in general. It wasn’t a bad feeling.   
He got the impression that they didn’t mind him much either. After a couple of shaky months of Trent handcuffing him to things before he’d go to sleep, or him almost scaring Chuck so badly he almost slipped and died in the shower, they started to get on well.   
He did still drink out of the carton.   
Chuck flopped on the sofa next to him and turned up the TV. Not ten seconds later, Trent was coming in the door, and they both scooted over accordingly to give him his spot. Orange Cassidy sat in the middle, shades reflecting Golden Girls as they watched. Eventually, Chuck’s legs were in his lap and Trent’s head had slumped against his shoulder. Orange felt himself begin to doze as well.   
Yeah, life was good.


End file.
